


Swaying in the light

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Issues, Female Fëanor, Female Protagonist, Finwë is not sexist here, Gender or Sex Swap, Gossip, Half-Sibling Incest, Half-Siblings getting married, I'm not sure where this fic came from it kind of wrote itself, Male-Female Friendship, Pregnancy, Valinor must have been a hellish place for gossip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Fingolfin have decided to get married, but not everybody approves, and many feel compelled to comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The only one who wholeheartedly rejoiced at the marriage, apart from the bride and groom, was Finwë.

Indis did all she could to prevent it. She protested, fueled opposition to it, entreated her uncle Ingwë to submit the matter to the Valar's judgement. The Valar declared that they would not approve of such a union, that it would be unclean, and invalid in the eyes of Eru, but to no avail. Finwë could not be persuaded to change his mind. He removed all obstacles to it, issuing decrees and proclamations and personally participating in the many debates that dissected the matter. It had not been a rare occurrence in Cuiviénen, he said, where families and clans did all they could to stay together, to survive, and no evil had ever come from it. He would permit it, since it stemmed from the free decision of two individuals fully capable of self-determination (the Valar's intervention had caused enough hurt one too many times already), and since it could bring harmony and unity to his house, and strengthen it too. 

Indis raged then (Finwë thought of his line, not of hers), but with no other consequence than to attract pity (or ridicule) upon herself.

Findis followed her mother at first, when Indis left Tirion in a flurry of anger and returned to Valmar. But Findis was the most peaceable of her siblings, always ready to see the good in anybody and in any situation, and sparing no effort to reconcile hostile parties whenever she could (she was, for the very same reason, also the one who suffered the most whenever discord arose in her family). The marriage was a positive thing, she concluded, just as her father said. It was something grounded in love and it would have been counterproductive to oppose it, and senseless to turn it into cause for more conflict. She returned a few days before the banquet, bringing presents for the newlyweds.

Írimë wasn't as easily persuaded to see anything positive in the marriage. Her objection to it wasn't due to moral considerations – she wasn't disturbed or repulsed by it – she was rather worried for her brother (who was over 30 years younger than his wife to be), being fiercely protective of him. She reluctantly gave her blessing only for his sake. As long as he was happy it was all that it took for her, even if she wasn't happy about it herself.

The letters sent to Alqualondë were never answered. There was, instead, a lively correspondence between Alqualondë and Valmar, and Arafinwë's blond head was conspicuous in its absence during both the formal reception and the banquet. Gossips, of course, didn't fail to elaborate on it, as on the absence of all other Vanyarin relations of the groom. 

No form of censure was spared for the bride in the rumours that sprang like mushrooms after a summer storm when the betrothal was announced. The most recurring was that she had schemed the marriage (going as far as pressuring her father into consenting to it by appealing to her mother's memory, in some versions), in order to tamper with the succession line. It seemed to never occur to the busybodies that her father _was_ the High King, and could therefore have altered the law at any time if he wanted to make her his heir, exactly as he had bent it to permit the marriage. Her father-name was Curufinwë after all, and Finwë had bestowed his own name to his other two daughters as well.

Most people were in any case convinced that the pair still hated each other, and that the marriage would only result in misery.

Others suggested that it was her marring that had led to it, that had introduced something so degenerate in the Blessed Realm. It had happened in Cuiviénen too, yes, that siblings or half-siblings would marry each-other, and have children together, but the Shadow had been at work there, and the then Quendi had been ignorant and easily deceived. The Eldar, who had received the Valar's correction and teachings, should have known better than to stoop to what was an abomination pure and simple. 

Some of the criticism was indirect. It was observed that the bridegroom could just as well have married another man. Fëanárë was half a head shorter than him, but much more muscled, owing to her work in the forge and her many other exertions in varied activities, including mining and her frequent wanderings, both alone and in the company of her friend Nerdanel (both instances were regarded as equally unseemly for a princess). She was unwomanly in both appearance and attitude, and generally reputed unsuited to be a wife, much less a mother. 

Disparagement of Ñolofinwë was less common, and was for the most part a rehash of the accusations levelled at Fëanárë, the chief one among them being the marriage-of-convenience theory. Everybody knew that Fëanárë was her father's favourite child; marrying her would was merely a way for him to secure Finwë's goodwill for himself too. He couldn't possibly be in love with a woman such as her, his own half-sister no less. Did he really plan to have children with her, who had also caused her own mother's death simply by being born? 

Many agreed that he should have married Anairë. Indis had actually tried to convince Anairë to draw Ñolofinwë away from Fëanárë, offering her wealth, and praise, even the promise that she herself would be queen one day, once Finwë grew tired of the crown and left it to his first son. Anairë would not hear of it. She was Ñolofinwë's friend, and her intention was to remain that.

The ugliest, cruellest rumour was a lurid story according to which Ñolofinwë had raped Fëanárë, either to force her into the marriage, or simply out of spite. It was widely circulated, mainly for the base titillation it provided to people bored out of their minds by Valinor's eventless monotony, but not as widely accepted. The Eldar were supposed to die if raped, for one, and it was far more likelier that, if coercion had been employed, Fëanárë had been the one to wield it against her much nobler and kinder half-brother.

There was no way to stop the proliferation of more or less sordid tales, or to completely silence the opposition of the most pious and law-abiding sections of Ñoldorin society, but neither the rumours nor the vituperation influenced Fëanárë and Ñolofinwë in the least (though both were equally riled by them).

Fëanárë appeared at the wedding banquet garbed in red and gold. Her sleeveless, jewel-studded shirt had a wide neckline that accentuated her broad shoulders; her muscled arms were bare, but adorned with the finest of bracelets and gems; her legs wrapped, as always, in tight pants, but finely embroidered. On her head she wore a veil made of golden spider-silk, spun by her mother for her own marriage (Indis had coveted it, but Finwë had never given it to her). She didn't look like the proper bride, not even as a proper woman. But the very sight of her, confident, proud, strong (and undeniably beautiful) overawed the assisting crowd.

Ñolofinwë's outfit was identical to his wife's, save for the veil – which was substituted by a very complicated headdress, with his hair bound in elaborate knots and decorated by filaments of gold and diamonds of all sizes – and the colour, which was white and blue.

Each kept their own personal emblem, but onlookers remarked that there was no awkwardness between them. They greeted the guests together, holding hands, though Fëanárë was brusque and had none of the self-possession and consummate address of her husband.

There could be no uneasiness between them, because they had never considered themselves brother and sister. Ñolofinwë had been born when Fëanárë was 36 and had already started her apprenticeship at Mahtan's to become a smith, confounding expectations that she would become a broideress like her mother. Ñolofinwë had seen very little of her growing up. Fëanárë never spent time with him, never even attended his or his sibling's begetting day celebrations. Her contemptuous attitude, coupled with his own mother's dislike of her (Indis had always told him not to bother himself with his half-sister; she was but a leftover of the past, he was the heir and the future) had led him to spurn her in turn. After her apprenticeship had been over, she had started her roamings, and they taken her far from home, until Finwë, worried sick by one particularly long absence had had her brought back quasi-forcibly, and ordered her to stay in Tirion for some time.

They had truly met then. Ñolofinwë had been nearing 40, and what he had become acquainted with was not a sister, but an outlandish woman (unique not just as a woman) who acted like she could have the world at her feet just by clicking her fingers.

He had hated her, and she had compounded his aversion by treating him like a witless child.

His hate had lasted until he had realized that there was vulnerability at her core. That the diamond could be easily cracked. He had also become taller than her in the meanwhile and had started looking at her, in every sense, from a different perspective. Winning her attention had been only a challenge at first, a pursuit of self-fulfilment that would have yielded the same futile thrill one has in bringing down a tiger. He had ended up winning her affection and respect, too. Fëanárë wasn't as unreasonable as people claimed she was, if carefully approached.

They didn't kiss in public, not to further vex sorely tried sensibilities (and not to give them the satisfaction).

No details leaked of their first night together, either. Findis and Írimë made sure that nobody, not even the servants, could get anywhere near the pair's rooms. Then, after a few days, they moved to the house they had built and decorated on a lower hill just north of Túna.

For the first 40 years of their marriage, it was impossible not to see Fëanárë in public either pregnant or with a child in her arms. Privately, when she was at work or otherwise occupied, Ñolofinwë would step in and look after the children (he also became, bit by bit, one of the most refined – and patient – cooks in all of Valinor, able to satisfy all of his wife's wildest cravings during her pregnancies). No nannies no tutors no supervisors of any sort were ever employed by the couple; both believed that the best way to care for a baby was to always keep them close to their parents' warmth, and Fëanárë in particular was adamant that they should never want for their parent's closeness. The babies didn't even have a room of their own, or a cradle; they slept with their parents until they were old enough to sleep in a bed. Then a new baby would be on their way. 

The couple organized their daily routine to suit each's needs, with some trial and error, but on the whole successfully, in a way which would have contradicted the belief that they didn't actually get along, if they had cared to publicize it. 

Their first child was a daughter, Nelyafinwë, followed by a son, Canafinwë. Then there was another girl, Rainafinwë, and then one more boy, Turcafinwë.

Turcafinwë's birth took a considerable toil on his mother; he was, to memory, the largest baby anybody had ever seen (and though he wouldn't grow up to be as tall as his oldest sister, or his fourth brother, he did develop a massive physique that repaid his mother's trouble), so his parents decided to wait for a while before having more children. (It was also, for Ñolofinwë, an unnerving reminder of Míriel's slow demise, an impression of what it must have been like, when he saw unwearying Fëanárë too spent to even lift her head from her pillow, and noticed the mute dread on their father's face).

After the excitement for the marriage died down, the children's varied skin and hair colours became the next playground for forked tongues. Nelyafinwë, with her bright copper hair and very pale skin which reminded very closely of Nerdanel's, was rumoured to be Mahtan's daughter. Why else would the couple have chosen to live in an isolated house outside of Tirion's walls, surrounded by high walls of its own which prevented to look in, if not to hide Fëanárë's trysts with other men?

There were a few of obstacles, which didn't daunt scanadlmongers' efforts however. Mahtan very seldom left Aulë's Halls, and nobody had seen him in the vicinity of Tirion for years (he had not been at the marriage, given the Valar's disapproval of it). That, along with his well-known sober character, would not have been conclusive (he would endeavour not to be seen, obviously). 

More relevant was the fact that Finwë's own mother had been a redhead, that Findis herself had dark red hair, and that therefore both Fëanárë and Ñolofinwë could have passed the lingering trait on to the girl, who looked nothing like Mahtan, but was a close copy of her mother, save for her eyebrows and chin, which were her father's. Yet the rumour was persistent, and readily believed.

Not exposing the children to malicious talk was the main reason why Fëanárë and Ñolofinwë built the quiet, out-of-the-way house. The enclosed garden was large enough for the girls and boys to play and run at will in relative safety, with no need to worry about them ending up in one of Tirion's bustling streets, and about prying eyes following their every move.

Fëanárë, who had grown up at the centre of prickly attention following her mother's death, would have liked to spare her children that most insidious sort of sufferance. 

She couldn't keep them entirely secreted, however, and so the gossip went on.

Canafinwë's skin was deemed to be too dark for it to have proceeded from his assumed parents. Prattlers decided that the father had to be Ñolofinwë's own friend Aranwë. Rainafinwë looked, to widespread disappointment, too much like her father. She had to be Ñolofinwë's real first child. 

Turcafinwë's silver hair and creamy white skin, along with the fact that he took after his mother in loooks and build, compensated for his sister's plainness. Locating a father proved to be beyond everybody's ability, however. The most shameless wouldn't have hesitated to claim that he was Finwë's own incestuous child: they wouldn't have put it past a father who had married his daughter to his own son, but gratuitously slandering the High King was a crime liable of heavy punishment, and so they hushed.

It was Anairë who first suggested to Finwë to extend the measure to cover all of his children ad grandchildren too. The suggestion was put into practice after an incident involving Írimë, who had caught a man in a public park pontificating about how Ñolofinwë was both a pervert for marrying his own sister and a coward for letting her cuckold him, and had verbally assaulted then punched him, repeatedly, so hard that the man had to forego all public appearances for a month. Finwë declared the new decree to be retroactive, so that Írimë's attack would be covered by its provisions.

The measure didn't win favour for Fëanárë (she was believed to be its promoter), but ensured that when Morifinwë was born 22 years after Turcafinwë's birth, nobody dared to openly comment on his freckled face and bright red cheeks. But by then a new, more serious, threat began to impinge on the tranquility and harmony of the growing family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rainafinwë is genderswapped Fingon's father-name (raina meaning "smiling, gracious, sweet-faced")


	2. Chapter 2

Fëanárë soundlessly padded through the open door of the sitting room, her normally brisk stride slowed down by her late pregnancy. 

“Are the little ones all asleep?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ñolofinwë replied, turning from where he was sitting with a nearly finished baby blanket in his lap, and smiled. 

Maitimë was a fully grown woman, impressively tall (taller, as a matter of fact, than almost everybody else), and showing a strong affinity for politics; Macalaurë had successfully asserted himself as an accomplished musician in spite of his youth, and Findemírë was growing to be a shrewd chatterbox that could outwit even the most cultured philosophers, but Ñolofinwë doubted Fëanárë would ever refer to their sons and daughters as anything other than 'the little ones'. 

“They're all excited about the birth. They're making plans about how to welcome new baby.” The most irrepressible was of course Tyelcormo, who was only 22 and hadn't experienced the birth of a baby brother, yet. Convincing him to sleep would have required twice as long as it normally did without Maitimë's help – she had a knack for winning her younger siblings over. 

Fëanárë's weary-looking face lit up. Her greatest source of satisfaction and relief was the certainty that her children would never feel lonely, and even if she was still bothered by the physical downsides of maternity (and knew she would never get used to them), bearing children had never been the enervating trial she had feared.

Ñolofinwë put the blanket aside and motioned for her to sit down next to him on the sofa. “They wanted to know if you're sure it's going to be a boy.”

“Yes, absolutely.” Fëanárë lowered herself carefully, heaving a heartfelt sigh, and stroked her swollen belly with her right hand. 

Ñolofinwë covered it with his own. He could feel the heat of her body clearly through the gauzy cotton of her gown. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I _always_ am,” Fëanárë complained. Given the difficulties of Tyelcormo's birth, everybody, from Finwë down to her apprentices, had insisted she should preserve her strength, and she had been banned from any activity which required even minimum physical effort. “I'll go back if you come with me. It gets so tiresome.” 

Ñolofinwë chuckled and leant down for a kiss. When they separated Fëanárë started twisting her unbound hair around her fingers, and took on a pensive air. It was the sign that something was nagging her. Ñolofinwë gently nudged her with his elbow, as he always did when he wanted to signal to her that she should tell him whatever was the matter. 

“Anairë told me you received a letter from your brother,” she grumbled.

Ñolofinwë's face clouded – he should have been expecting that, Anairë and Fëanárë had become friends, belying how Fëanárë had been jealously diffident of Anairë at first. He resignedly nodded. “He expounded on his son's growth into a lively toddler, and invited us to 'delight in' the celebrations for his second begetting day.”

Arafinwë hadn't invited Fëanárë to his wedding, which had been celebrated in Alqualondë, on “unsullied” ground, twenty-eight years before. He had invited his siblings, and of course his father. Írimë, incensed by the implied slight against Ñolofinwë (much as she appreciated why Arafinwë wouldn't want Fëanárë at his wedding), had been convinced to go only by Findis's pleading and Finwë's insistence, and by the notion that she had to act as Ñolofinwë's eyes and ears in his absence, since he had very politely declined the invitation (in his and his wife's name). 

Findaráto's birth had apparently changed Arafinwë's attitude, and only superficially for the better.

Fëanárë furrowed her brow. Ñolofinwë inwardly cringed when she did – it was, more often than not, a harbinger of trouble – but liked the way she looked, her strong, sharply defined features that were a dusky counterpart to his own taking on an even sharper edge. 

“You know what his friends say, that this son of his is the first true heir to the Ñoldoran, not Maitimë, not even Macalaurë.” 

“Yes. But even if they believe that, Father has endorsed her father-name.” Ñolofinwë had chosen Nelyafinwë precisely to proclaim that she was third in line from Finwë.

“They dismiss it as an empty, presumptuous boast. They consider our marriage sinful, and our children tainted by consequence, unfit to even live in the 'Blessed' Realm.”

The malicious gossip concerning the circumstances of their marriage and the paternity of their children had given way to potentially much more harmful murmurs that marked the resurgence of the faction set against their union. Ñolofinwë wasn't inattentive to them; he knew which people were more vocal in their opposition (it wasn't just Arafinwë's friends), and how they tried to promote their views. A few went so far as to turn the other way when they crossed one of his children on the streets. His own mother had always refused to see them, and behaved as if they didn't exist, setting a dangerous example. Indis had never set foot in Tirion again, but she had made the trip to Alqualondë in great pomp for Findaráto's birth. Ingwë had gone with her, leaving little doubt as to what his stance on the matter was.

“If something were to happen to father -”

Fëanárë's anguish-laced voice shook Ñolofinwë out of his mulling. “Nárië,” he pulled her closer to himself, “it won't.”

“It's easy for you say,” Fëanárë grunted in response (but snuggled her face against his chest).

Ñolofinwë couldn't retort, couldn't reassure her either. He hadn't grown up with a dead mother, and dreading to lose his father too. It was one aspect of Fëanárë's mindset which would forever be beyond his grasp, and which he still struggled to accustom himself to. “They might consider the marriage impure, and our children -” he stalled; he couldn't bring himself to use any negative adjective for them, “-...but I would still be Finwë's first son, and I have enough friends and supporters.”

“They would have Ingwë, and the Valar on their side.” Fëanárë was sufficiently acquainted with the sort of power the Valar could wield against her children, how easily (and with impunity) they could destroy them. “Ulmo said it, didn't he? That I'm marred and that my existence portends evil.” She constantly turned the possibility over in her head, however much she tried not to, however much she told herself that it was inauspicious to even think of her father's death. The only way for Ñolofinwë to retain his right to the throne in the event would be to reject her and their children, she was sure of it. His affection was sincere, but his reaction could be unpredictable. “We should never -”

“I don't want to hear you say that,” Ñolofinwë snapped, with the same peremptory curtness he employed whenever somebody (anybody) tried to castigate him for his marriage. “It's not like you...we chose to be in this together, and we will stay together.”

Fëanárë took a deep breath and nodded. They remained in silence for a while, in the comfort of each-other's closeness. Fëanárë poked the beads on Ñolofinwë's shirt, and he brushed her back. 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to.” He had been trying to find a suitable way to break the news to her. Anairë had probably realized his quandary, and eased his task. “I will go, and I will take Maitimë, Macalaurë and Findemírë with me.”

“No.” Fëanárë shot up and stared at Ñolofinwë with a mix of annoyance and worry. “You can't, they will -”

“You can't protect the children at any moment. You can't keep them locked away, either. How will they live, if they learn that the best way to face the world is to hide?” Ñolofinwë had learnt, through many bitter experiences, that remaining calm and disproving her objections piece by piece was the best way to placate Fëanárë (he didn't always manage to remain calm).

“They won't do that. They know how to fight, how to stand up for themselves.”

“Fighting is not the only way. They need to get acquainted with the world, with all its unpleasantness, to be at ease in it, to master it. I will be with them, and Írimë will be there too.” 

Fëanárë and Írimë hadn't overcome their mutual dislike yet, but Fëanárë had grown to rely upon her sister's own love and concern for her children (and Írimë had in turn acknowledged Fëanárë's fondness for her brother).

“At least, not Findemírë. She's too young,” Fëanárë's insisted, her stubbornness inflated by the protective instinct of a wary mother lioness.

“You were her age when you started your apprenticeship. She can talk down a roomful of old windbags. Trust her.” 

“It's not that I don't trust her -”

“Do you think I want our children to come to harm?”

“...of course you don't,” Fëanárë sulkily admitted. “Why do you suppose your brother invited us this time?”

“Perhaps Father pressured him. Or he wants to brag. Whatever his intention, he won't have an easy time of it with me.” 

“Oh, don't I know.”

Ñolofinwë smiled, and Fëanárë relaxed.

“Are you hungry?” Ñolofinwë had three different kinds of biscuits, a cake, and an assortment of savoury snacks ready for his wife's every need.

“No, not now...later maybe. When are you leaving?”

“In three days. You'll move to the palace, right?”

“I'd prefer to stay here...but the palace is safer,” Fëanárë declaimed, imitating his lecturing tone when he said it, and rolling her eyes at his serious expression.

“Good. Anairë will stay with you, and we will come back immediately. Of course I'll relay your regret for not having been able to join in the common merriment.”

“Yes, tell them it is unmeasurable...mainly because it doesn't exist. As if your brother didn't know I wouldn't -”

Ñolofinwë huffed (Arafinwë _was_ , despite everything, his brother) and silenced her with another kiss. “Let's go to bed now.” He stood up and made to grab her.

Fëanárë swatted his arms away. “No, no, I'm not going to let you carry me.”

“I'll be careful,” protested Ñolofinwë.

“You dropped me once, and I think we'd best avoid the risk given my condition.” 

It had truly happened, to Ñolofinwë's chagrin, soon after they had avowed their affection for each-other, and accepted the fact that they had to come to terms with it. He had been younger at the time, and overeager to prove himself. Fëanárë had laughed the incident off, but never forgot it. 

Ñolofinwë sighed and extended his right arm again, for her to lean on it, and that she gratefully did. Her back hurt almost as much as it had during the tense last days of her first pregnancy; the boy would be born in less than three weeks.

“...are you sure it's going to be just one baby?” Ñolofinwë asked as they started towards the corridor.

“Yes, why?”

“Your belly. It looks bigger than when Turco was born.” He had a very vivid recollection of the boy's long and difficult delivery, and hoped it wouldn't repeat itself. 

“It isn't. No baby can be bigger than Tyelcormo...or I could just as well give birth to a calf.”

“Well, that would surely keep folks on the street entertained.”

Fëanárë pursed her mouth and pinched his upper arm.

“Sorry, sorry...Why don't we take a bath before lying down? I'm going to massage your back, too, hm?”

“What would I do without you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros, Maglor, Fingon and Celegorm are 21, 16, 12, and 8 year old (in human terms).
> 
> I'm not satisfied with Fingon's genderswapped name. I don't want to use Findecánë, both because it sounds ridiculous to me and because I can't see Fëanor giving her daughter a name that has the same second element as Fingolfin's own mother-name, at this point. Findemírë is not bad but not great either, so I might change it.


	3. Chapter 3

The journey to Alqualondë normally took a week, but the royal party covered the distance in five days, and arrived in the late afternoon of the day before the celebration.

Finwë decided at the very last moment not to go, adducing a vague pretext.

It was the perfect occasion to spend some time alone with his first child, a very rare one, and he couldn't force himself to forgo it, for none of the all too sensible reasons that were pointed out to him. It would have been his duty to go, both as king and as father, but the very thought of leaving Fëanárë when she was so close to term perturbed him, and it hardly mattered to his preoccupation that a host of midwives and healers was there for her, ready to face any eventuality, with the midwife who had assisted her during Tyelcormo's delivery and its aftermath at their head (Finwë had showered the woman with presents and praise). 

It could be made into a political move, too. By allowing Ñolofinwë to use the accoutrements that had been readied for him, having him speak to Olwë in his stead, he empowered him as his substitute, stressing his position as his heir. His own gifts for the baby he entrusted to Maitimë instead, with the same significance.

Alqualondë was a beautiful place, charming and cheerful, but Ñolofinwë didn't like the sea. It looked calm, beckoning with its lustre, but he knew its moods could be tricky. As soon as Tyelcormo had been old enough to travel, Fëanárë and he had left with their children on their first trip together. They had crossed Valinor from east to west, going past Valmar, and ending on the shores of the Ekkaia. There Ñolofinwë had become acquainted with the sea's other face, its destructive side. 

The travellers were welcomed by Olwë, and by Arafinwë with his wife. Olwë very graciously made no comment on Finwë's absence, but it was easy to tell that it upset Arafinwë, who scarcely paid attention when Ñolofinwë introduced his children to him. Maitimë, Macalaurë and Findemírë were then escorted by Eärwen to the guestrooms, with Írimë in tow, while attendants carried their baggage inside the mother-of-pearl encrusted palace. There was no sign of Indis, even though she was in Alqualondë too. Findis excused herself to go to her.

Arafinwë took Ñolofinwë to the rooms he shared with Eärwen, bright rooms with glass-less windows, pervaded by the salty scent of the sea. The brothers hadn't seen each other since the week before Arafinwë's wedding. Ñolofinwë hadn't attended the ceremony, but had met with his younger brother in private to give him his wishes and presents. 

“It is nice to see you are doing well. It's been too long.” 

“Yes, and I'm already about to become a father for the fifth time, as you might have heard.” 

There was no putting off their confrontation. 

Arafinwë smiled weakly. “Findis informed me of Fëanárë's pregnancy. A boy, she said. How come you haven't brought your fourth?”

“He was determined to stay with his mother,” Ñolofinwë lied. “You'll soon enough learn how stubborn children can be.” The singular colour of Tyelcormo's hair – laden with too many connotations for one so young – would have been a manifest reminder of the root of their division. “You knew Fëanárë couldn't come, then.” 

“A fortunate coincidence,” Arafinwë remarked. He felt no need to hide his true intent. “I simply wanted to have my brother all to myself for a couple of days. I wish Father had come too...he should have, but as it seems it is impossible to break the hold Fëanárë has over him.” It should have been the six of them together, again, their mother had agreed to see Fëanárë's children for the sake of a reunion, but of course Fëanárë had to ruin the occasion.

“He is busy with a dragging dispute between two neighbouring villages.” It was nothing that court officials couldn't have handled, Ñolofinwë knew that. “He is also worried about the upcoming birth of the baby. I can hardly fault him. I too hesitated before deciding to come. Would you light-heartedly leave your wife's side at such a juncture?”

“Naturally not,” Arafinwë conceded, “but Fëanárë is an extraordinary case, isn't she? There must always be special regards for her.”

“She gives birth like every other woman, and with the same dangers,” Ñolofinwë retorted. “You could attempt to get along with her too, instead of insisting with resentment.”

“I don't see why I should care to earn her approval. I'm happy here.”

“We could all be happy toget -”

“Please, not that.” Arafinwë furrowed his brow and lifted a hand to silence his brother. “We never were and never will be. I remember how it used to be in Tirion. There was always so much friction, it was hardly ever truly serene. When she wasn't there, we would be happier, but Father would constantly be worried about her, constantly thinking about her. When she was, she would barely greet us. I was a child, I didn't understand why she would look at me so icily. Father...he seemed to be overjoyed by her mere presence, at the expense of everything else. Mother looked so sad, though she was too dignified to complain. And then you were ensnared by her.”

“I wasn't ensnared,” Ñolofinwë firmly articulated.

Arafinwë looked at him intently, as if to gauge him. He had been 40 at the time of the marriage, too young to perceive it as anything too different from a betrayal. “You are my brother. I refuse to believe that you could fall for the woman who only has hate for Mother and us.”

“Which means you believe I have married her – with all it took to make the marriage possible – only to suffer her spite.” Arafinwë's gaze didn't waver, but he didn't reply. “I'm not asking you to love her as a sister. I could never love her as such, either. The past cannot be undone. But she is your sister by marriage too now, and the mother of your nephews and nieces, who share your blood, and Mother's...I know it isn't easy, I went through the same. I was her bane. I imagine if we had all been women, things would have been smoother. She did get along reasonably well with Findis. She felt threatened by me.”

“Would she have come today, if she hadn't been pregnant?” Arafinwë asked.

“Probably not, considering that you never returned an answer to the invitation to our wedding, didn't invite her to yours and never bothered to visit us after the birth of our children.”

Arafinwë took a deep breath, and started pacing the room. He never had because it would have hurt him, and his mother. “...you honestly believe she cares about you? You said it, she felt threatened by you, so she is using you and your children as a shield for herself.”

“With the dreadful backlash of gossip? Our marriage actually made life harder for her -” 

“You talk like her champion.”

“-a s it did for me,” Ñolofinwë finished, raising his voice. “I talk like her husband. I imagine you wouldn't appreciate it either, if I insulted your wife and your relationship with her.”

The conversation foundered into uncomfortable silence. Ñolofinwë had hoped to avoid that, but the fact that they had talked at all was an improvement on the nearly total lack of communication of recent years.

The silence was broken by the creaking of the door. Írimë stepped into the room. 

“Brother,” she greeted coolly. She had overheard the last exchange as she approached. 

“Sister,” Arafinwë returned, equally curt.

Írimë crossed the room and came to stand next to Ñolofinwë. “The children are settled, but I expect it will be impossible to prevent Rainë from roaming around the town tonight.”

“It is all right so long as Nelyë and Cáno with her.”

“Are they ever apart?”

Ñolofinwë shook his head, smiling, then held out his hand to Arafinwë. “You said we will be having dinner together?”

Arafinwë accepted the appeasing gesture, and offered his free hand to Írimë, who took it in hers. “Yes, the four of us, and Mother.”

“Where is she?”

“She is Olwë's wife's guest, they will be having tea at this time of day.”

The next day, Maitimë, Macalaurë and Findemírë were introduced to their paternal grandmother, immediately before the reception, in as discreet a manner as possible. 

Indis couldn't bring herself to hug them, or look them in the eye. She did plant a fleeting kiss on their foreheads, but that alone cost her considerable effort. 

Fortunately, the Teleri didn't care much for ceremonials. The reception took place on the beach, and the laid-back atmosphere helped to partially defuse a situation that could have been much more strained. 

Maitimë handed the presents to Arafinwë and Eärwen with assured gestures, unrattled by the crowd's variously curious gazes. Dressed like her mother, but with her hair braided as her father's, her appearance and bearing left little doubt as to whose daughter she was. Her height too worked to her advantage. People literally had to look up at her.

Little Findaráto lay in a seashell-shaped cradle and joyfully waved his tiny arms at his cousins. His light blond hair, a mix of Vanyarin gold and Telerin silver blond, made a tremendous impression on Findemírë. 

“Will we have a blond brother too?” she excitedly asked, delicately caressing the toddler's curls. 

“It could happen,” Ñolofinwë replied.

“Well, since Turco has Grandmother Míriel's hair, the next baby might have Grandmother Indis's hair!” Findemírë blabbered. She turned towards Indis. “Is it not funny? That we have one grandfather but two grandmothers?” 

The question wasn't meant to be offensive (it didn't appear to be), but it put Indis on the defensive.

“You only have one, of both,” corrected Arafinwë, noting his mother's renewed unease. 

“Oh no, they are two. I have seen many portraits of Grandmother Míriel. Have you ever seen them, Uncle?” the girl pressed.

“...no, never.” 

Talking about Míriel had been taboo in the royal palace; her portraits had been safely stored away, out of sight (but not entirely, never entirely out of mind).

“Is it not a pity that she cannot come back? I would have loved to learn embroidery from her. Mother has many -”

Maitimë gently laid a hand on her sister's shoulder, and Findemírë instantly hushed.

“It is what she wanted,” Indis muttered.

“What she wanted at the time, yes. I wonder if she has not started to feel better now. She might regret her decision,” Macalaurë, who had spoken very little up that point, unexpectedly said. “The Valar's judgement was definitely...callous, and wholly inappropriate to the situation.” 

Indis tensed, and shot Ñolofinwë a reproachful glare. _Your children are their mother's creatures through and through_ , it said. _Your children disrespect you by disrespecting me_. 

Ñolofinwë ought to have said something, but he could find no words to pacify his mother without reproving his children. He understood her outrage, but he didn't want to burden either Findemírë or Macalaurë with guilt, or inhibit the vivacity of their minds in any way. And it would have been hypocritical to chide them for growing attached to their dead grandmother, when their living one shunned them.

Findis hastily made a stock comment on Findaráto's eyes, and Eärwen followed her lead, in an attempt to ease the awkwardness. 

Findemírë, who had realized her blunder, tugged on her father's shirt and whispered, 'sorry Dad'. 

Ñolofinwë smoothed one of her carefully adorned braids back into place. “You didn't do anything wrong. Just be a little more careful next time, ok?” 

Findemírë nodded. Ñolofinwë turned to Macalaurë, who also nodded without the need for further words.

“Now don't think about it, and have fun.”

Ñolofinwë sighed as he watched his children head towards the water's edge, more and more thankful that Tyelcormo wasn't there. Míriel was dead, but not gone. He hadn't thought much about her before marrying Fëanárë, and it was still difficult for him, too, but he had quickly become fairly certain of one thing: her return couldn't possibly have done more harm than her ghost had.


	4. Chapter 4

Ñolofinwë's intention had been to start on the return journey on the day after the reception, but Arafinwë insisted that he spend some more time with him, and with their mother. 

“Your son won't be born for ten more days, you could spare a couple for us, if you truly care for us, too”.

Ñolofinwë wouldn't normally have given in to emotional manipulation. He didn't like to be put in a position where he was expected to choose between parts of his family, or juggle them like he might have swapped items of clothing. Fëanárë had a deep-rooted tendency to resort to it, and he always fought it. He could, because had a working relationship with her. The realisation that Arafinwë was desperate enough to resort to it too made him almost nauseous. 

“...It's not a matter of whether I care for you or not. Why should my affection for you have been diminished?”

“Then prove it...brother.”

“Why doesn't _he_ prove it by coming back home? Not even Fëanárë was ever far from home for as long as he's been” Írimë blustered when Ñolofinwë asked his sisters' opinion. 

None of the issues that divided them could be properly tackled unless they did it all together. 

Findis, for her part, conceded that, but she also pointed out that it would be counterproductive if they put their feet down. They could show their goodwill and take the first step by staying. 

“It will be good for your children, too, so they can spend more time in a new place and meet new people”.

Ñolofinwë had to agree with her, on all counts. Fëanárë was safe, he repeated to himself, and if Arafinwë and their mother were willing to talk he couldn't let the occasion slip by. Especially as far as his mother was concerned. He had never been able to properly talk to her about the marriage – explain his motivations and desires. The little he had told her when he had first confessed to her his decision to marry Fëanárë had been vague, a garble of half-truths and reticent answers. He himself had been uncertain about where his decision would lead. Now that the marriage was a reality, and a multifaceted one if not a perfect one, he could be more honest. He still didn't expect her to give him her blessing, or to understand, but he wanted her to listen, at least. 

The return journey took a day longer than the previous one. One of the horses became injured, and they had to stop at a post station to borrow another.

Ñolofinwë's uneasiness grew as time passed. The conversations with his brother and mother had by far not been pleasant, and the bitter aftertaste they had left behind made him yearn to go back, see his wife and father again, as quickly as possible.

When they finally reached Tirion, the three weeks had almost passed. Ñolofinwë hurriedly handed the reins of his horse to one of the stable masters after dismounting in the courtyard of the Royal Palace, and turned to Maitimë, who smiled, urging him to go. 

He strode towards one of the many secondary entrances, and darted inside, traversing marble lined corridors and halls without sparing a glance for the attendants and officials he encountered.

“Dad!” beamed Tyelcormo as he rounded a corner. The boy, who had heard the clatter of the horses and spied his father and siblings' arrival from the room where he had been spending the afternoon with his mother and Anairë, darted towards Ñolofinwë. “I missed you!” he cried out, stretching his arms. 

Ñolofinwë crouched down and hugged him to his chest. 

“I missed you too” he said, closing his eyes as he felt part of the weight that had been burdening him lift off of it. 

Tyelcormo was too young and too happy to recognise his father's distress, but he instinctively perceived it, and drew back to sprinkle his face with kisses. 

“The baby is already here!” he exclaimed, when he deemed the kisses to be enough.

“What?” Ñolofinwë couldn't help raising his voice in surprise.

“He was born a week ago.” 

Ñolofinwë looked up, and saw Finwë approach from the other end of the corridor. 

“Father.” 

He stood up, taking Tyelcormo in his arms. Finwë embraced both. 

Welcome back”.

“...how is Fëanárë?”

Ñolofinwë uttered the question with a mix of apprehension and reproach that Finwë didn't fail to notice.

“It was a quick, troubleless delivery, Eru be thanked, and the boy is hale and very lively. _Very_ lively, like his mother...and his silver-haired older brother.” Finwë winked at Tyelcormo, who clung to his father's neck. “I considered sending word to you, but I feared it would only make you worry unduly. Did everything go well in Alqualondë?” he asked as he started walking in the direction from which Tyelcormo had come – towards the living area of the private wing, and not towards the bedroom. There was no way to keep Fëanárë in bed if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

“Yes...although your absence was grievously noted”.

A wistful smile flickered across Finwë's face. “...one of us had to be here.” 

Ñolofinwë remembered Arafinwë's words – 'a fortunate coincidence'. Their father's ill-considered decision had, by pure chance, turned out to be providential. He often wondered at the timing of events, if Eru or fate designed them so capriciously on purpose. Sometimes the most trivial of them could alter lives, like the day Fëanárë and he had bumped into each other at the library – she came later than usual and he left ealier than he was wont to – and argued until they had almost come to blows. They had built their relationship from that. 

He sighed. “...I should have been the one here, and you should have been the one to go to Alqualondë. Mother misses you”.

Finwë's gaze became pensive, his silver-grey eyes staring into space. They were regular eyes, but when the light from the trees caught in them, they looked just as bright as any Aman-born Elda's. After a while he looked down and whispered “I miss her too”. 

“You met Grandma?” Tyelcormo practically bounced in his father's arms. Ñolofinwë had to stifle a groan as he thought that Indis wouldn't have been as enthusiastic about seeing him, much less than she had been about interacting with his siblings.

“Yes, your sisters and brother all met her. She sends her...love to you too. And your uncle promised he will come visit and spend time with us here, as soon as little Findaráto is old enough to travel”.

“Arafinwë did?” Finwë asked, surprised, over Tyelcormo's excited babbling. He had become so used to Arafinwë's preference for Alqualondë that the thought of him residing in Tirion for long periods of time (or at all) was little short of astonishing. 

“Yes, we talked, quite at length – that's why I come so late – and...we agreed to make efforts to meet more often in the future”. 

Father and son looked each-other in the eye. Arafinwë's visit was bound to have unpalatable public and political repercussions. 

_Do not tell Fëanárë about that now._

_I know_. Arafinwë's mere arrival would cause a sensation that had to be handled very carefully. 

“Írimë and Findis will come back next week. Eärwen offered to take them to see the pearl-diving women at work”.

Tyelcormo pouted at that. “I wanted to show auntie Findis the new paper tiger I made!”

“You will, and I'm sure she will be very proud of you. In the meanwhile why not show it to your sisters and brother?”

“That's right!” Finwë shook away concerns about the future for the moment. “Why don't you and I go to your room and fetch your paper-folding box so you can show your newest creations to your father and to Nelyë and Rainë and Cáno?” 

Tyelcormo nodded with sprightly seriousness, and accepted to be put down to take his grandfather's hand. 

Finwë inclined his head towards the second to last door down the brightly lit corridor. “Don't make her wait much longer”. 

Fëanárë was reclining on a mound of cushions on a settee that hadn't been in that drawing room when Ñolofinwë had left, a strong, muscled arm delicately curled around the bundle resting on her chest, the other holding a sheet of paper. She turned towards the door as it opened.

“You should have been here four days ago” she said. 

Her tone was dry, dangerously still as a hammer lifted to strike. Ñolofinwë's heart lurched at the mere sound of her voice, and at the sight of the profile of the baby nestled against her bosom. 

“I'm...sorry”.

“Oh, what for?”

“I would have never intentionally missed the birth of-”

“But you did”.

Ñolofinwë fell silent and stood unsurely at the foot of the settee. He had no way to retort. Words couldn't undo Fëanárë's vexation and disappointment – or his own, and he had had enough of talk. 

Anairë, who sat at her desk under the windows, heaved a loud sigh. It wasn't the first time she found herself in the midst of a thorny impasse between the couple.

“I'm surprised you didn't hear her screams and imprecations down the road” she put in “I'm quite sure they reached all the way to the sea. The little one is bound to grow a peppery mouth on him”. 

“You've never given birth” Fëanárë grumbled at her, with a sharp movement of her head which made the rubies attached to the tips of her braids clink against each other. “And without your husband there”.

“I don't plan to, ever, with or without husband”Anairë countered. She covered the ink wells – reds and blues and gold – where she had been dipping her nibs and brushes, stood up, and walked to Ñolofinwë, being careful to dodge Tyelcormo's building blocks strewn all over the carpet.

“Welcome back, nildonya”.

They hugged. In the past, the gesture would have put Fëanárë on tenterhooks, but Anairë had made it clear, in her composed but categorical manner, that she would never surrender her right to hug, or kiss, her dearest friend whenever she wished, that she wouldn't stop even if Fëanárë were to make a scene every single time. 

“I will leave you two alone for a while. Try not to quarrel”.

“You can go wherever you want, I've told you many times I don't need you to watch over me”.

Keeping an eye on Fëanárë – trying to keep her from overactivity – could be challenging, but it was at the same time the most diverting duty (and not just a duty) Anairë had been charged with ever since she had entered the royal palace as lady-in-waiting (one of many) to Indis. She didn't reply, but snatched the sheet Fëanárë had been perusing from her hand, and turned her back on her, ignoring her mute protest.

Once the door had closed behind Anairë, Fëanárë sat up to make room for Ñolofinwë beside her. 

“Here, my love, meet your absentee dad.” 

The baby slept peacefully, swaddled in one of the many colourful blankets Ñolofinwë had made for him. A blacker than black down of hair covered his head (Ñolofinwë mentally thanked Eru that he didn't have his mother's hair, as Findemírë had wished). The puffy cheeks were reddened, his lips slightly pursed. 

Ñolofinwë sat down and held him, held him like he hadn't when he had been born. 

“Nárië, if I could I-”

She shook her head. “You can't change the fact that you missed the birth of your fifth child” she said, and there was something more than vexation or disappointment behind her words “...but you can make it up to us now. He was simply impatient to be born, I guess...doesn't he take after you?”

Her expression softened and Ñolofinwë felt himself relax. 

“...he looks more like you”.

“Well, Father says he takes after you, too, in the shape of his face, whereas Anairë claims he has my features. We'll see what his siblings think”.

Ñolofinwë tenderly brushed a finger over one rosy cheek, and the baby stirred as if to wake up, pulling his tiny arms out of the blanket. Ñolofinwë noticed that Fëanárë held her breath, and let it go when the newborn merely burbled.

“It seems he recognizes his dad. He's an intransigent one. If he woke up and I wasn't the one with him, he'd scream loud enough to bring the palace walls down”.

“Father has told me he's very lively”.

“Oh yes, that too” Fëanárë confirmed with a teeny hint of reprimand in her voice. “I've barely had any sleep...it's no matter though, it gave me time to perfect a project I had been mulling over for a while”.

The baby fully opened his eyes and looked up at his father's face. As it turned out, while he didn't have Indis' hair, he did have Míriel's eyes. They were such a dark shade of grey that the pupil was almost indistinguishable from the iris, the same leaden colour which glittered on the portrait of her Fëanárë kept in their bedroom. 

“...you have been working?”

“Don't worry, Anairë wrote everything down for me, and had no qualms ordering me to stop whenever she deemed I had done enough...you know her. She has the most clear hand even while writing fast”.

“She's not a calligrapher for nothing. So, what is it this time?”

Fëanárë smiled triumphantly. “I have devised a way to make lamps that glow with their own light. I'm sure it'll work”.

“Their own light?”

“Yes! Shan't it be awesome?” she enthused. “No more candles or oil lamps, with the risks and waste they entail. No smells, and a much brighter light too. As soon as I am allowed to go back to the forge, I'll do all the necessary tests”.

Ñolofinwë couldn't help be infected by her fervour. 

Fëanárë believed that creating with the mind was no different from creating with the body, and that, if anything, the former was more intimate than the latter, since for all the emphasis put on their reproductive function, women couldn't have created a new life without men, whereas they could excel in any craft on their own terms.

She didn't feel the need to keep the two separate either, not just out of personal inclination, but also because it was tantamount to spitting in the face of those who would have seen her relegated to either of those spheres, and those who predicted that she would eventually crumble, like her mother.

They couldn't have been more wrong. Fëanárë's energy and ingenuity were at their best when she was most active. She was fire, and fire burns out if not constantly stoked up. Ñolofinwë rather feared her flame could burn too bright.

“You're staring”.

“I'm just...I'm with you, both of you”.

The baby babbled louder.

“I bought a charm in Alqualondë for him, for when he's a little older. Of silver, with dark red coral, and white pearls...I think it'll match his complexion”.

“A charm?”

“Yes, you know, like the ones the Teleri use to ward off misfortune. Rainë liked them lot and insisted I get one for the new baby too”.

“...how was it for the little ones there?” 

“My mother didn't publicly insult them or anything of the sort”.

“I-”

Ñolofinwë leveled Fëanárë an eloquent look. She had the grace not to deny. 

“...so?”

The loud thudding of familiar gaits in the hallway forestalled Ñolofinwë's reply.

“Mother!” Findemírë burst into the room, and flung herself on the settee to hug Fëanárë, only to immediately shift her attention to the baby. Maitimë and Macalaurë followed – Maitimë regal and serene as usual, Macalaurë wearing one of his rare genuine smiles, and Fëanárë had her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'nildonya' means 'my friend (male)'


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Arafinwë arrived in Tirion, fifteen years later, the first working version of the lamps had already been in use in the Palace and on public streets for half a decade. They were also, albeit more slowly, winning their way into private houses, including those of people who had no great love for Fëanárë. 

Fëanárë had entrusted the preparatory phases of the work to Ñillerámë, her assistant, helping her whenever the care of the baby left her time to. 

Ñillerámë, who had been one of Fëanárë's first apprentices, had in time displayed the skill, perseverance and discretion to convince Fëanárë to make her her closest collaborator, too. It took her one year to complete the prototypes – small crystals that glowed with a radiance no stronger than a waning candle's. They were far from the intended result, but proved that the process Fëanárë had devised was an effective one, a solid foundation on which to improve. 

Light was after all elusive in its preciousness, the gift on which the Valar's call of the Eldar to Valinor had hinged, and to grasp its secrets was to fully claim that gift.

Morifinwë lived the first months of his life partaking in his mother's enthusiasm, lulled by her visions and ambitions instead of fairy tales. After he started babbling his first words, Fëanárë devoted herself almost completely to her project. She spent hours in the forges and in her study for weeks on end, alone or with Ñillerámë, poring over notes and revising calculations to perfect the making, assessing the various materials she collected during her visits to mining establishments and merchants with Ñolofinwë, to find the most suitable.

Maitimë had never been too keen on crafting, whereas Findemírë and Tyelcormo were both too vivacious and too busy with their own activities and their growing circle of friends. Macalaurë was the only one of his siblings who took an active interest their mother's project, if only from a linguistic perspective. He maintained that her invention deserved a new name. Calma was too commonplace a word, one that didn't accurately describe the fact that her lamps would not simply shine light from a perishable source, but hold it permanently inside them. Calar, he said, would be more fitting. 

Fëanárë rewarded his interest by revealing the first crystal that fully met her expectations at the feast for his coming of age ceremony. At the appointed time, her servants snuffed out all the torches and oil lamps, leaving feast hall to be illuminated by the soft gleam of Tyelperion's silvery rays filtering through the curtains. And then Macalaurë stood up from his seat of honour next to his grandfather, intoning a song, and unveiled the crystal at the height of it. It seemed at first as if the light came from his very hands, a pure blueish radiance which bathed the whole hall.

“My mother's creation” he said as soon as the song was over, meeting Fëanárë's proud gaze, while the guests' surprise turned into excited chatter.

Still thrilled by the sensation the reveal had caused, Fëanárë sent a batch of lamps to Aulë's Halls. Nerdanel arrived a few weeks later, but without the response she had been hoping for. The letter Mahtan addressed her informed her that as Aulë's servants they couldn't make use of her invention, given her unapproved-of marriage.

Disappointment, and misery, burned bitterly, even if Mahtan assured her that his own affection towards her wasn't diminished, and Fëanárë tried to dispel them by researching for ways to make the crystals bigger, or shining brighter, or to be made so that their brightness could be regulated at will. Nerdanel stayed with her for over a year, and when she left, she promised she would try to make her father and friends change their mind. 

The continued effort proved beneficial also to distract her from the fact that Finwë made three lengthy trips to Valmar over the course of ten years, flimsily cloaked as official visits, but in fact intended to meet Indis – a consequence of Ñolofinwë meeting her in Alqualondë, as Finwë himself explained to her.

Fëanárë had told him in her wonted blunt manner that she didn't approve of that. Indis had left, and it was unseemly that her father should go chasing her when she had made it abundantly clear that she didn't want anything to do with him any longer, especially since she had already gotten more from him than she would have had a right to.

Her work also became a convenient excuse not to meet her half-brother too often. 

Arafinwë came with seventeen-year-old Findaráto, and a pregnant Eärwen, bestowing dazzling smiles left and right as the people of Tirion clustered around the gates to welcome him, as a beloved king who returns to his kingdom after a long absence.

He affected meekness, but his every act, every word was coloured by the undertone that he was the hapless victim of a terrible wrong. Much of it was surely the product of his own mother's grooming, and Fëanárë accepted Ñolofinwë's explanation that it was also an attempt on his part to shift to himself some of the attention that had been devoted to his older siblings. Yet she couldn't help thinking that it was ridiculous. Everybody, in Alqualondë as well as in Tirion and Valmar, adored him, the reception at the gates proved it. He was the unblemished, undisputed darling of the three races, and of the Valar. Arafinwë was held up as a paragon, a pinnacle of perfection from which Ñolofinwë had supposedly fallen, and it rankled deeply with her, in addition to fuelling her worries and uncertainties. 

Finwë didn't hide how happy he was to finally have all his children back in his own house, and held a dinner and lunch each week to which all of them with their families and friends were invited. The meals were civil, but not cordial, and didn't manage to thaw the thick layer of ice that had settled between Fëanárë and Arafinwë. What good came from them was due to their children. 

Tyelcormo, who was thirty-eight but was already as tall and as large as any elf close to majority, took an instinctive liking to Findaráto, and the two of them, along with Carnistir, soon became inseparable playmates, chasing each other in the palace grounds, sharing their toys and getting into all sorts of mischief by which their parents and aunts were forced to interact more than they would otherwise have.

Then the moment of the birth of Arafinwë's second child came, and it was marked by great rejoicing in Tirion. The newborn was a boy, one more potential heir. His hair was a darker shade of blond than Findaráto's, but tallied with the Vanyarin side of his family enough not to leave any room for gossip, and to be taken as a sign of purity and true blessedness.

Ñolofinwë took to spending his afternoons with his brother and sisters, whereas Fëanárë shut herself in the forge again. 

They were rarely in each other's company, until at length Ñolofinwë decided to go to the forge one evening after coming back from the Palace, uncaring if his fine clothes were to be soiled by the soot and oils. Fëanárë was, as usual, stooping over her tools, while her new apprentice scuttled about in the background.

“You're still working,” Ñolofinwë sighed, after observing her for a while in silence, leaning against the doorframe.

“I'm almost done,” Fëanárë said, but didn't even look up as she lifted the red-hot iron she had been hammering from the anvil and dunked it in the cooling basin. It re-emerged a delicately curved coil.

“We haven't slept together in weeks.” Ñolofinwë stirred and walked towards her. “...actually we haven't spent much time together in or out of bed since Moryo became old enough to sleep by himself.”

Fëanárë inspected the coil to make sure its shape was as she had intended, and there were no irregularities on the surface. “How do you mean that?”

“What?”

“What kind of “sleep” do you have in mind?” Fëanárë clarified, in the most detached manner. 

Ñolofinwë couldn't tell if the question was a taunt or if she really cared for an answer. He couldn't even see her eyes across the room, half hidden behind a lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. He decided to answer anyway. “...both” he averred. He missed the first years of their marriage, when work and pleasure had been balanced, and there had been no lengthy periods spent apart. 

“You could have told me,” Fëanárë returned, laying the finished piece on her workbench in a neat row next to a set of other similar pieces she would mount together on the following day. “You seemed so taken with your brother's arrival and then his wife giving birth.”

Ñolofinwë quirked an eyebrow, feeling a sting of irritation. “Maybe I was because you had no time for me. First the lamps, then more advanced lamps, then who knows what,” he groused, darting a reproachful glance at the workbench.

“It's a present for Findemírë, her fiftieth begetting day is in three months in case you have forgotten -” Fëanárë saw Ñolofinwë was about to rejoin, but she raised her voice and went on, “- and I never heard you complain about the work on the lamps before. You helped me, too.” 

“Yes, and I enjoyed it, but if you keep working so much I will soon have forgotten what it's like to have a wife.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Fëanárë brushed her hair away from her face and lifted her arms to redo her ponytail. Her face scrunched for a moment, as if she were debating something with herself, then she turned towards Ñolofinwë, and finally met his gaze. “...I've heard your mother is planning to come to Angaráto's first begetting day. But of course she can't show up at her granddaughter's coming of age ceremony. You should be embarrassed.”

Ñolofinwë's brow creased. “Who told you?” 

“What will you tell Rainë? That her grandmother can't bear to set foot here if it's for her, but if it's her half-Telerin cousin then this town is suddenly not a place of ignominy anymore?”

“I don't have anything to tell Findemírë – or anybody else – as of yet. It's by no means certain that my mother will come.” It was only a remote possibility, and no one apart from his father should have known about it. “I hope you won't embitter our daughter with your acrimony.”

“My acrimony, yes,” she sneered. “I don't understand!” She grabbed a rag and began to vigorously wipe the workbench, though there didn't seem to be the need to clean much. “Your mother hates me, and I hate her. I don't understand why we should be made to get along at all costs! Aren't we happy like this? You want to see her from time to time? Fine. But she shouldn't intrude on our life, directly or via your brother.”

“She has the right to see her children and grandchildren whenever she wants.”

Fëanárë stilled, her face drawing in taut lines. She straightened, and tossed the rag towards the garbage heap. “Ah yes...your mother has all rights, of course.” 

She took her apron off and tossed that too away. It landed on the workbench, but almost immediately slid off of it onto the ground. The apprentice took it as an opportunity to come forward. He picked the apron up and laid it back on the workbench, looking acutely uncomfortable. 

“T- the furnace is cooled, and all the tools have been cleaned,” he stammered, his gaze flitting nervously from Fëanárë to Ñolofinwë.

Fëanárë heaved a loud sigh, but her gaze softened when she looked at the young man. “Good, you may go.”

Ñolofinwë nodded curtly to the young man as he shuffled out of the workshop, and as soon as he was out of earshot, stepped closer to Fëanárë. He took her soot-stained, sweaty hands in his and kissed them.

“I haven't come here to quarrel about my mother. I just want to spend more time with you,” he said, hoping she wouldn't insist. 

Fëanárë looked like she wanted to do just that, but she caught the note of pleading in his voice. Her gaze drifted down to their joined hands. “Do you simply want me to perform my wifely duties?”

Ñolofinwë was at a loss for a moment, then realised she was trying to make light of the situation, and his lips curled into a lopsided smile. “I wouldn't mind that” he replied. “...I want to be with you...but it's perfectly fine if you don't want to have more children.” 

“When have I said that? Have you been making assumptions on your own again?”

“I don't want to pressure you.” 

“You seem to be selective about that, don't you?" she pointedly said. "You want one more child?”

“I'd want a dozen more of them.” He let go of her hands and pushed her against the workbench, pressing their bodies together.

He tentatively planted a kiss to her neck, just below her earlobe, and heaved a mental sigh of relief when he felt her body go slack against his. She laughed softly in his ear. 

“Your brother will think we're trying to...outshine him, if we make one more baby now.”

“Let him,” Ñolofinwë murmured, then seemed to hesitate. Fëanárë lifted both eyebrows. “...I was hoping you'd want to take me.”

“Briber.” She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I guess I could...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this back in April but then I decided to change a couple things, and try to settle on a chronology, and it took more than I expected.
> 
> I interpret calma as a generic word for lamp, whereas calar is more closely linked to the verb 'to shine' (literally means 'shiner') (but I don't know if Tolkien had another distinction in mind).


	6. Chapter 6

Findemírë's gaze swept over the now half-empty hall, every wall and table glittering with the lavish outpour of dozens small lamps and enlivened by the vivacious colours of flower-garlands. 

The feast to celebrate her coming of age had gone smoothly enough, all things considered. 

Indis had arrived in Tirion out of the blue, surprising even Finwë, exactly one week before the grand day – the one after Findemírë's actual begetting day – and the lead-up to it had been marked by growing tension between her and Fëanárë, which had reached its culmination when the two of them were forced to greet each other in public as Indis strutted into the Hall on Finwë's arm. Fëanárë was curt and detached, barely deigning to look at her step-mother, but once the actual ceremony began she set her pique aside, and all her attention was devoted to her daughter. She was at Findemírë's side throughout the initial phases of the feast, helping her receive the long procession of well-wishers with their gifts.

Fëanárë and Ñolofinwë also took advantage of the occasion to announce that they were expecting one more child. Findemírë had been relieved to have some of the general attention diverted from her, to be rid of the gazes of the many who studied her every gesture and sought to impress every little detail of her appearance down to the lace peeking out of her sleeves in their minds, all fodder for the talk that would keep the prattlers in Tirion busy for a long while. 

Now people were trickling out of the hall, taking their talk with them. Findemírë relaxed against the backrest of the throne-like seat she had been granted for the occasion, on the royal dais right next to Finwë, and started twirling the strings of gems attached to her gown between her fingers. 

She had distracted herself, after tension and excitement had turned to boredom, by observing her siblings. Macalaurë had soon forsaken food to play and sing, the sound of his music a much welcome comfort. Tyelcormo and Carnistir spent most of the feast playing with Findaráto, chasing each other among the tables under the watchful eyes of Findaráto's nannies. But most of Findemírë's attention had been focused on Maitimë. Even from where she sat she could see her head rise above all others, and hear her hearty, sonorous voice as she addressed the guests. 

Findemírë had always admired her oldest sister, always looked up to her from the moment she had stepped into adolescence, wishing to become as self-confident and as accomplished as her. But she was an adult now, and admiration hadn't been the only thing drawing her to Maitimë for a while. 

“Rainë.”

Findemírë visibly flinched when she heard someone whisper her name just behind her. She turned, holding her breath.

Írimë put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry for startling you, but you were so engrossed. I had to call your name half a dozen times!”

“Aunt,” Findemírë sighed a little reproachfully, but her face relaxed into a smile.

Írimë sat down on the seat left vacant by Fëanárë when she had joined Ñolofinwë in a discussion on mining techniques with some of the guests. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

Findemírë looked around – not towards the doors but the empty space near the windows, where the most high-ranking guests had been. The copper head she looked for wasn't there. “...I would prefer...to go with Nelyë. Where is she now?”

“She was taken aside by one of the Vanyarin guests...I will escort you back to your room, I'm sure Maitimë will come as soon as she is done with civilities. Will you allow me the honour, High Princess?” Írimë solemnly said, using the title Finwë had only hours before bestowed on his granddaughter.

Findemírë assented. She took her leave of her grandparents first, then crossed the hall to where her parents were and took her leave of them too.

In her room, Írimë helped her of the mountain of jewels her mother had heaped on her and her gold-embroidered dress and pants, drew a bath for her and dressed her again in the lacy nightgown made of the purest silk that had been Anairë's gift. 

Írimë and she sat on the sofa placed under the window, and talked – of the day, of further rituals to be performed – but Findemírë, although tired, kept darting her eyes towards the door and strained her ears to hear any faintest sound from the corridor. When Maitimë's knock finally came – a light rap repeated thrice – she stirred from the drowsiness that threatened to overcome her. Írimë flashed her a knowing smile, pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood to leave. 

Maitimë stepped into the room, and greeted their aunt as they met at the door. Once it had clicked shut, she strode over to the sofa and sat down on it, in the space left vacant by her aunt.

She looked her sister over, assessed how the new nightgown fell around her body.

“It becomes you,” she softly remarked. “You look as gorgeous in it as you did at the feast...everybody was agape at your beauty and poise.”

Findemírë smiled somewhat bashfully. It wasn't the idea that people found her fair or attractive that titillated her – she was rather annoyed by that – but the way Maitimë spoke those words, her closeness, the delicate fragrance of perfume, that affected her in ways she couldn't control. She fidgeted, her hands in her lap, picking at the little bumps of the lace. There was one thing in particular she wanted to talk to her sister about, and steeled herself to do it, though in a very circuitous manner.

“Nelyë...will I get...marriage proposals after today?”

“You might,” Maitimë replied. She lifted her right hand to Findemírë's arm, and dragged it up along her bare arm and over the fine silk to her cheek. The hand lingered there, and Findemírë inclined her head to cuddle her cheek into her sister's large, smooth palm. 

Maitimë hadn't received any marriage proposals. Partly because of her appearance: men didn't particularly fancy the idea to be married to a woman who was at least half a head taller than them. Partly because as prospective heir to the High King of the Ñoldor it was she who had the right to choose her husband, if she wished to be wedded. 

The thought of her sister getting married harrowed Findemírë more than the idea of getting married herself.

“...I don't want to be parted from you, ever.”

Maitimë smiled, but it was a smile that didn't discount her sister's worry, rather tried to soothe it. “Why should we be parted?”

“I don't want to get married,” Findemírë insisted, feeling like a fool for sounding so childish, but unable to bring herself to say more. She hugged Maitimë, laying her head on the soft swell of her breasts.

Maitimë kissed the top of her head and started stroking her back. “You don't have to worry about that. You won't marry unless you want to. Father and Mother would never force you to...Mother would rather chase any unwelcome suitor away with a hammer.”

Findemírë pictured the scene in her head and couldn't help giggling. She took a deep breath and relaxed in Maitimë's arms. Her body went slack and her eyes drifted close, her tiredness finally taking over.

Maitimë held her like that for a while, glad to lull her sister to sleep as she had done many many times in the past, then gathered her in her arms. Findemírë barely took notice as she was lifted and carried to the bed. Maitimë tucked her in, and caressed her forehead as she bent to place a chaste kiss on each of her cheeks. 

“Sleep now. We will spend the afternoon together tomorrow, if you want.”

Findemírë mumbled an assent, but all she was aware of was the delicious tingling her sister's lips left on her skin.

*

The first one to visit Findemírë in the morning was Ñolofinwë. Ñolofinwë didn't normally cook when the family took up residence in Finwë's house, leaving the task to the kitchen servants, to Fëanárë's infinite dismay. But the occasion was a special one, and it warranted for an exception to the rule. Therefore he rose well before the Mingling and headed to Findemírë's room with a rich breakfast. 

Findemírë was an early riser by nature, and when Ñolofinwë knocked and entered her bedchamber, he found her already sitting at her dressing table, combing her wavy dark-brown hair with a large hairbrush. She smiled in the mirror as she saw his reflection, and beamed as her eyes drifted to the food he carried. 

Ñolofinwë set the tray down at the centre of the bed, careful not to tilt it and upset the cups and covered plates artfully arranged on it. 

The vessels clinked together as he did, and Findemírë sprang up from the stool, eagerness painted on her face. She kicked her slippers off and sat down on the bed, beckoning her father to join her. She murmured a thank you and began eating straight away, completely at ease in his company. 

“You like Maitimë a lot, don't you?” Ñolofinwë asked after observing her in silence for a time, “more than as a sister.”

Findemírë's heart gave a lurch. She stiffened, but breathed a 'yes', quickly swallowing the bite of cake she had been munching on. Her eyes flicked up to her father. There was no trace of reprimand on his face, just as there hadn't been in his voice, and she took courage. “...I- I never told her.”

“I think she knows.”

Findemírë nodded, munching pensively on the soft, creamy cake.

“It isn't bad, is it?” she said then, her head shooting up to meet her father's gaze. 

“Well...” Ñolofinwë tapped his jaw with his fingers and sighed, “I cannot fault you for loving your sister, can I?...it is true that your mother and I didn't grow up as siblings, but I would be a hypocrite if I were to berate you with laws and customs. Just be careful, very, _very_ careful to never be too open about it.” Findemírë's exuberance could very easily get out of control, and Ñolofinwë didn't even want to imagine the sort of racket scandalmongers might stir, if they were to suspect _undue_ intimacy between full sisters. “Do you want to be with her now that you're both grown up?”

Heat rose to Findemírë's cheeks and she brought both her hands to them, covering the blush that tinted them. “It- it would be my greatest dream.”

“I had guessed as much.”

Findemírë's eyebrows knitted together in dismay. “Am I that obvious?”

“You don't hide your likes and dislikes very well,” Ñolofinwë chuckled – not that Findemírë disliked too many people, “...and Írimë has been keeping a close eye on you.”

“Does Mom know?”

“Very likely, but I don't think she has anything to object.”

Ñolofinwë stretched his left arm, and Findemírë accepted to be circled by it.

“How is it going between Mom and Grandma?”

“As well as it could be hoped, for now at least,” Ñolofinwë said, with a hint of apprehension that wasn't lost on his daughter. 

“Will she stay for long?”

“At least until Angaráto's first begetting day.”

Fëanárë was convinced that Angaráto's begetting day was what Indis truly wanted to celebrate, and that she had come early just to ruin their happiness. Findemírë wasn't sure she agreed with her mother on that. Indis had brought a sumptuous present for her, and had shown her no ill-will. “I'm happy Grandma came.”

“I'm happy too.”


End file.
